


What Happens In Kazakhstan

by InkBlackFingers



Category: James Bond (Movies), Psych, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 15:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3139181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkBlackFingers/pseuds/InkBlackFingers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps you're referring to my license to kill. Revoked - problems at the Kazakhstan border. I'd give you the details, but then I'd have to kill you... which I can't do because my license to kill has been revoked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens In Kazakhstan

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, I’m just playing in the sandbox that other people built.**

 

It was a normal day in the Santa Barbara Police Department- or, at least, what passed for normal now that their psychic consultant made a habit of spending most of his day at the station. Shawn had commandeered some swivel chairs from various officers and had set up a race course through the middle of the station. He managed to wheedle Buzz into being the judge and somehow convinced Juliet into racing him and Gus down the hallway. Most of the people in the station were clustered around the finish line, making bets on who would win. Lassiter, on the other hand, was trying to do paperwork at his desk while trying to ignore the chaos that Shawn always created.

Juliet had clenched the sides of her chair, ready to push off. Gus was wondering how Shawn had convinced him to do this, like every other thing in their lives. Shawn had a pineapple smoothie in one hand, and took sips from it while he waited for Buzz.

“On your marks. Get set,” Buzz started them off. “Go!”

The three of them quickly pushed off, heading in a more or less straight line down the hallway. At first, Juliet had pulled ahead of both Shawn and Gus, but then Shawn overtook both of them. It looked like he was going to win before the chief’s door abruptly opened, causing him to quickly swerve so that he wouldn’t crash into it. He ended up crashing into Gus, and then the two of them smashed into one of the plants lining the the hallway. Somehow, the cup managed not to spill. While Shawn and Gus were still tangled on the floor, Juliet had avoided them and reached the finish line.

“Yes!” Juliet did a little happy dance next to Buzz.

“Dammit Shawn! Why’d you have to hit me?” Gus groaned as he picked himself up, brushing off dirt. “I think I bruised my patella.”

“Cool it Gustice, it wasn’t my fault,” he groused.

“For once,” Lassiter muttered under his breath from his table.

Chief Vick stared uncomprehendingly at the scene in front of her before starting to speak.

“Mr. Spencer, please take this question seriously,” she said.

“Yeah Chief?” Shawn gave a lazy salute with the hand that wasn’t holding a cup from his sprawled position on the floor.

“Are you in any trouble with the British government?”

Shawn took a second to think, idly twirling the straw. “Not that I can think of. I'm pretty sure I'm still in trouble with the Russian government and I don't think I'm allowed on Chilean soil for the seven years, and the Mexican border police have standing orders to not let me or Gus in unless accompanied by a chaperone, but I can't think of anything I've done to the British government. Why, Chief?” He asked, ignoring Gus’ blush at the mention of Mexico and the other’s questioning looks as he listed off the governments.

She took a deep breath. “MI6 is demanding that you go to England immediately.”

“What!” Gus, Juliet and Lassiter exclaimed.

“Shawn, what’d you do?”

“England, really?”

“Dammit Spencer!” The three of them talked over one another and were quickly silenced as the Chief continued talking.

“They,” she cleared her throat. “They just faxed over all the official forms. It- It looks like it’s all in order. He mentioned that you wouldn’t need to pack anything.” She looked somber, wondering what her favorite ‘psychic’ consultant might have gotten up to.

To everyone’s surprise, the wrinkles in Shawn’s brow smoothed out, and he asked, “Is he still on the line?”

“Yes, would you like to step into my office to take it?” she motioned towards the still open door.

“No need,” Shawn hopped up and went over to Lassie’s desk, perching on top of it and taking his phone out of the cradle.

He pressed the speaker button and gave a cheerful greeting. “Hey Robin!”

Twin sighs rang out across the room; one from Lassiter, annoyed at the psychic’s commandeering of his desk, and the other from the phone.

“It’s Quinn now, Spencer,” an exasperated British voice said.

“You’re on speaker Quinny, behave,” Shawn lightly admonished, taking a sip of his smoothie.

"And you're on camera and not acting much better. Pineapple smoothies Spencer, really? What are you, three?"

Shawn winked at the small surveillance camera winking in the corner. "I'm seriously considering starting a religion to worship the yellow god."

"I'm still convinced you don't have taste buds."

Shawn took a loud slurp of his smoothie, sticking his tongue out at the camera, then suddenly turned serious. "So, Quinny, why does MI6 need me back on British soil? Last time they saw me, they couldn't wait to usher me out of England. In fact, if I remember correctly, you guys literally packed my bags for me."

‘Quinny’ asked, “remember James?”

"Yeah,” Shawn smirked, “last I heard, he'd taken a few pages out of my book."

"Well, he took more than a -" He cut himself off suddenly. Shawn and his audience could hear his muffled yelling. "So help me Bond, if you touch-" An explosion and several screams could be heard in the background. "Bond you bloody idiot! Get out, everybody get out!" It was a few minutes before he came back on.

“Shawn, who is that?” Gus tried to ask, but was only shushed for his efforts.

"Spencer, you still there?" he asked.

"Quinny, you okay?"

"That absolute *arse* managed to blow up three of my latest prototypes."

"We heard." Shawn deadpanned.

"Spencer, you don't have a choice. Bond is down here every other day, terrorizing my min- employees, and I can't get anything done, and it's all *your* fault!"

"That's really not fair, Qui-"

"I've already put a notice on your business' website that 'Psych' is closed for the moment due to personal reasons."

Gus’ outburst of “Wait, can he legally do that?” was ignored.

The british voice changed abruptly, going from conversational to commanding. "Spencer, walk outside and get into the black car. John'll drive you to the airport and you'll be on the next flight to Britain. Everything will be ready on your arrival. I'd normally tell you to bring everything back in one piece, but I'll settle for making it into the country without loss of blood. See you in a few hours Spencer. And no, you are not allowed to bring guests." He hung up.

Immediately, the officers that had gathered started clamoring, asking what just happened, why MI6 had wanted him off of British soil in the first place (any why they wanted him back now), who ‘Robin’ and "Quinn" and ‘James’ were, but Shawn just waved off their questions as he walked out of the building and got into the sleek black car.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> AN In case you haven’t figured it out by now, this entire fic was spawned by one of Shawn’s lines in the episode “Poker, I Barely Know Her.” [It’s the summary :) ] Well, Shawn’s has a really random job history and who’s to say that one of those jobs couldn’t have been overseas? Or with MI-6? Hope you like it!


End file.
